by Lucia Jordan
He toyed with the waistband momentarily; just long enough to make her shudder and cry out anxiously in a need she could not argue against then his fingers moved back up to her hair. He tangled his fingers into the low knot of hair she wore on her neck and he pulled it loose from its pins. They rattled as they hit the floor and her hair fell to her shoulders in deep brown waves touched with a glint of chestnut.
His tongue slid across her aureole then his mouth tightened around her nipples as he suckled them one by one. Her legs shook and not just from the unaccustomed height that the heels bestowed upon her.
He withdrew. “Your paper is unacceptable.”
She stared at him, not comprehending what he was talking about. “What?”
“You are a terrible student. We are going to have to change your study habits.”
Had he gone insane? On the heels of that thought, she realized that he was playing a game with her, and waiting for her to join in. She said, in her best girlish lisp, “I did my best Professor. Maybe you just do not appreciate my genius.”
Connor’s lips twitched and she knew the smart assed reply had amused him. “I see. Perhaps you could explain it to me.”
She was at a loss. This was new to her, and while she wanted to play along she was unsure of how. Besides, what she really wanted was for him to fuck her hard and fast. A light bulb went off in her head and she moved closer, forgetting that she wore the heels and could not use her arms for balance.
She tipped over, falling heavily against him. Horrified, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “I throw myself at your mercy!”
His hands caressed her bare shoulders. Electric tingles shot through her body. The ropes tightened as she strained against them, igniting erotic sensations within her being. “I believe disciplinary action is called for.”
He sat down in the chair that visitors usually took. It was tall and without arms. The seat was wooden and hard. She had chosen it precisely for those reasons, it would not be comfortable enough for anyone to want to sit in for long periods.
He pulled her over his knees, her belly pressed against his hard thighs, and her gaze rooted firmly to the floor. His hands stroked over the surface of her spotless white cotton panties then he spanked her rounded ass cheeks gently.
Strong currents of pleasure coursed through her as his hands landed on her firm, upturned bottom. His fingers slipped below the hem of her panties, caressed her labia before easing inside her tight walls.
Sandra’s face rubbed against his well-toned calf and she whimpered as he asked, “Will you get your work done on time from here on out?”
“Yes, Professor.” Her face heated at the words but she felt no shame, she would have said anything at that moment.
His hands tugged at her panties, they came down to her knees and his fingers moved against her clit, pressing that swollen bud and then circling it until she ground her teeth together in an effort to keep from crying out his name.
His fingers withdrew, leaving her empty and aching. His hands slapped against her butt once more, this time his palms landed on bared flesh and pain sprang up but he immediately soothed it away with the caresses that came after the spanking blows.
His fingers moved back to her clit. The panties rubbed against her thighs as she strained to open her legs wider but could not. The panties were as effective a bondage as the rope she wore.
“Remember this lesson,” he said.
“Yes sir,” she managed to say.
His cock was hard, incredibly hard. She could feel the stiff length of him below her belly. She wanted that heavy shaft, wanted him inside of her, to feel him stretching her walls open.
The orgasm was sudden and intense, it left her dangling limp on his lap, her face muscles gone slack and her body relaxed. He chuckled as he helped her to her feet and she stared at him, confused. “Don’t you want…”she let the words trail off.
“Sometimes the best sex is the sex you give to someone else without getting anything in return.” The kiss he bestowed on her mouth after those words was achingly tender and soft. She melted against him, her body still shaking from the aftermath of what had happened.
She had never known any man to be so unselfish when it came to sex. Most of the men she had dated had been dry and terse and brought that same manner to bed with them. None of them had ever given her anything without expecting something in return. She was grateful even as she wondered if she had done something wrong.
She had to ask that question and when she did, he hugged her close, so close she could smell his cologne and a slight tang of sweat, “You could not have done anything more perfectly. Please just take this as a gift and enjoy it.”
She stared at him, grateful and smitten by his charm and he helped her to dress again. They stowed the schoolgirl outfit in a bottom drawer of her desk along with the rope. Sandra devoutly hoped that it would make another reappearance soon and Connor said, “I am taking you to dinner.”
It was not a request and she knew it. What was more, she wanted to go. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm, an old fashioned and courtly gesture that made her feel both fragile and protected all at once. She knew that was silly, she was not small or in need of protection but the feeling remained.
The restaurant that he took her to was the best one in town. Although it was a small town it was overrun with college students, many from abroad, people with discerning palates, and visiting dignitaries and the restaurants reflected all those things.
Sylvia’s boasted an impressive wine cellar, traditional French cuisine that refused to take on any of the ‘fusion’ that other places offered and a very dim and highly romantic setting. The rustic old beams that ran overhead, the dancing flames of the fireplaces and candles, and the cozy high backed booths that screened diners from the view of others all contributed to that ambience.
Connor ordered a Penfold’s Grange and a cheese and fruit plate as an appetizer. The wine alone cost nearly a thousand dollars and Sandra felt a rush of nerves, she had been raised to live plainly, to enjoy the smaller things and she wondered if Connor would find that boring of her.
They began to chat about things to do around the town. Sandra was an avid sailor; her first boat had been a used Laser she had purchased when she was fourteen with her savings from her summer job.
Connor leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes alight with laughter as she haltingly told him about that summer and the endless rounds she had made, knocking on doors of the houses in town, weed eater in hand, asking if she could cut their grass.
“My first job was delivering newspapers. I sucked at it. By the time I was thirteen I had gotten a job caddying at the country club. The tips were usually okay but some of those people were rough to work for.” He said, taking a long sip of the wine.
“I can imagine. I babysat for a little while but after I ended up with five kids who did everything from pouring salt into my tea to gluing the dog’s butt to a chair one afternoon I decided that was not for me.”
“Did that turn you off kids forever?”
“No, not at all. It did make me appreciate the power of exorcisms though.”
His laughter rang out. She watched him laugh, the way his head tipped back and the flash of his strong teeth between his sensual lips and her heart began to pound. She cautioned herself to slow down. Falling for this guy was a big mistake and not one she could afford to make.
“I assume it also made you appreciate your sailboat more.”
“I learned to sail on my own so having to swim back to my capsized boat a few times and try again gave me a good appreciation for it.”
“You taught yourself to sail?” His stare was frankly admiring and astonished. “How?”
“Oh I had a book.”
Connor choked on a swallow of the rich and ripe wine. He believed her, without a doubt. Awe crept in. “Why did you not just get lessons?”
“My father believes that if it is truly something you care about you will put for
th the effort to master it.”
If there was rancor in her voice, he did not hear it. He had met her father at a small faculty party a few days before, the man was as dry as sand. He could not imagine what it must have been like growing up with him. Their food came, forestalling any further conversation on that subject and they dug in appreciatively.
Dinner was roasted veal with tomato, delicately seasoned potatoes and other root vegetables, long and perfect spears of steamed asparagus and dark bread that came warm and fresh to the table on a wooden board with a small bowl of fresh creamery butter.
Connor said, “I am glad you are not one of those women who picks at everything and eats nothing.”
Sandra had long ago stopped worrying that she would make a dinner companion notice that she was not model-thin by actually eating the food on her plate. She liked her body, its curves, and its flaws and if the person across from her thought that she should eat less that was their problem and she said so.
That response elicited a grin from him and his hand covered hers for a moment. The candle light’s glow outlined the curve of his cheek, put more gold into his unruly hair and darkened his eyes. Sandra found it hard to tear her eyes away from his visage.
“What made you want to be a writer?”
“Everything,” he responded promptly to her query. “I wrote notes and letters and poems before I even realized why it was so important for me to do it. I wrote horror stories as a teenager, positive that I was going to be the next Stephen King but then I realized I was not that scary.
“It was my wife who really helped me find my niche. She was my best editor, my biggest fan and my most fierce champion.”
His face softened as he spoke. Sandra knew the story, almost everyone did. Still, it was obvious he still remembered his wife fondly and with good reason. ”I’m sorry for your loss.”
Connor stared down at the succulent meat on his plate. “It doesn’t hurt any more, if that is what you are afraid of. I sometimes wonder what might have happened, or wish we had had children, or wonder if she knew I loved her there at the end when she was quite literally out of her mind with the pain.”
He continued, “I do miss her upon occasion and there are even times when I think life is one fucked up bastard but on the other side of that there had been a lot of living on my part since then. And I think she would have wanted it that way. She was never a selfish woman.”
Why had he said all of that? He was not sure. It was not like him to open up, most women tried to use their sympathy as a way to get into his heart, Sandra had simply said she was sorry and then clammed up. For years he had wished people would do that very thing, how had he not realized that their talking saved him from having to speak?
Slightly embarrassed by his effusiveness he said, “Tell me about you. Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Oh I just…”she made a helpless gesture with one hand as she tried to think of something to say. “I never met anyone I meshed with. That is a lie. I dated three perfectly nice and stable men who would have made good husbands. We would have had nice calm little lives and raised kids that would likely have hated us for being so bland but we would have been too busy congratulating ourselves on our nice sedate little world, and all of its order to notice. In a way that is exactly what I wanted because…well because that is how I am used to living.”
She took a moment as she collected her thoughts.
“Everything in its place and a place for everything sums me up. But nothing about that seems to fit. That is not true: kids, and love, and a home for all of us does, but there is something missing; was something missing. I know that makes me sound like I am greedy or dissatisfied or high maintenance or…something.”
“Not at all. It makes you sound like a woman who wants more than what everyone thinks she should settle for.”
“Or my mother.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
“What about her?”
“She is…capricious is my father’s word and it suits her perfectly. Raine Madigan is her name, her maiden name anyway—she has been married five, or maybe six, times now. She is a gorgeous creature who gets bored before she even gets halfway through a door of a party. At least that is how one of her friends described her once. She got bored with me almost before I was born and my father probably a lot sooner. She left and has never come back.”
“I am sorry to hear that. You know, I think we need to have a pitiful me party—let’s order four desserts, another bottle of wine and see what gets us drunk faster; sugar or alcohol.”
She laughed because she could not help it. “You are being absurd.”
“Not at all.” He waved their waiter over and asked for the dessert cart to be brought over and a dessert wine list as well. The waiter practically rubbed his hands together as he ran off to get the requested items.
That was how they wound up sitting for three hours over dinner, or more precisely dessert. Connor fed her small bites of sweet and flaky apple tarte-tatin, decadent crème brulee, and spectacular cherry clafoutis. Nobody had ever fed her before and at first she felt awkward when the fork touched her lips but soon she relaxed and allowed him to take care of her.
Every bite was a sensual experience. His fingers lingered on her jaw, he watched her face closely to see her reactions, and she watched his as well. They drank shallow sips of the wines they had ordered and engaged in a long and winding conversation that touched on everything from vampires in modern fiction to rock music, politics, and religion.
The restaurant closed but none of the staff bothered to tell them, the exorbitant bill they had incurred earned them a little extra time at the table. When Sandra realized it was well after midnight she said so in a tone of disbelief.
Connor was more than a little tipsy. Sandra’s flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and huge grin assured him he was not the only one feeling the effects of the meal. “We need a cab.”
“I agree,” she hiccupped and slapped a hand across her mouth, a gesture that made him chuckle with amusement.
The waiter took his platinum credit card and promised to let the owners know that Connor would return early the next day to retrieve his car so the restaurant would not have the vehicle towed. The tip Connor added sealed the waiter’s desire to be helpful. Sandra was certain he would have driven them home himself if a cab had not been available.
On her doorstep he kissed her again—a long, slow lingering thing that tasted of wine and apples. The old oak tree that shaded her yard cast long shadows alternated with stripes of moonlight over them and the breeze drifted to them smelling of crisping leaves and the ineffable tang of impending autumn.
He stepped back, brushed an errant strand of hair from her forehead and said, “See you at school,” before he headed back to the waiting taxi.
Sandra leaned against her door, ignoring the fact that everyone and anyone who had been passing by could have seen them, and probably did. She stood out there watching the twin cherries of the taillights fade into the darkness.
A tiny little fizzing burst of joy filled her chest and she did her beat to tamp it down. Men like Connor Beaumont dated women who were exciting, glamorous and …not her. The joy deflated and she slumped against the hard wood of her front door. The wine had begun to wear on her, her stomach ached, and her head hurt as well. She turned and let herself in, vowing not to lose control around him again.
**
That was easier said than done. The next day a gorgeous single white rose appeared on her desk, wrapped in a thin white tissue and tied with a silver ribbon. Sandra had the mother of all hangovers, both from food and wine, and was dealing with students who were either utterly unimpressed with the course—which they had assumed would be an easy A—or barracuda-like academics jockeying for a leg up in a job market that was rarely hiring. Her mood was understandably sour but the sight of that perfect rose, its creamy outer petals opening just enough to give her a glimp
se of its pure heart, lightened her spirits even if it could not help the dull headache that persisted throughout the long day.
The bud sat in a tall glass for the rest of the day as she taught her last class, dealt with a student who was determined to get extra credit before the course even fully began while she packed up her things for the day.
Just as she picked up her messenger bag Connor’s leonine head popped around her doorframe. “I felt like shit most of the day,” he announced. “I wanted to apologize for wrecking your day too.”
“You should be taken out on the commons and hanged.” Even as she spoke, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Connor looked a little worse than she did—after all, she had makeup to hide the effects of the previous evening.
Shadows teemed under his eyes and his skin was slightly pallid under his tan. Fatigue showed in the droop of his shoulders.
“When I first woke up I was rather hoping someone would have the mercy to kill me,” he admitted. “Then I was pretty sure the sun was going to incinerate me but at the last minute it decided to go behind some clouds.”
“It was a rough morning.” Sandra conceded. “Remind me to never mix apples and …what the hell all did we eat anyway? I think it is the sugar crash that sucks worse than the hangover.”
“I think it was the last set of pastries and that ice wine that did it.”
“I do not remember ice wine. I do not even know what that is.”
“It was very sweet and cold.”
“I thought that was the ice cream.”
Connor laughed. “I think I am going to have to remember that trying to impress you on a school night should not involve alcohol.”
“You were trying to impress me?” She was not being coy; she was sincerely surprised that he would feel the need to impress her.